


The Bonds We Make, The Pacts We Break

by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Crying, Dreams, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hugging, Nightmares, Psychic Attack, Visions, ends happily, mild body horror, spoilers for episode 65
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 23:05:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19094848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/pseuds/Angel%20Ascending
Summary: In which Uk'otoa issues another ultimatum, some bonds are broken while others are forged, and Fjord finally gets his long overdue adoption.





	The Bonds We Make, The Pacts We Break

It had been days since Fjord had the nightmare that had melted into a dream of safety and warmth and he knows he should tell somebody, Caduceus probably, all things considered. Fjord had recognized the Wildmother, of course, because even though he wasn’t religious like Jester or Caduceus or even Yasha, well, he had been a sailor after all.

When you were a sailor, you made offerings to the Stormlord or the Wildmother whenever you were heading out to sea or after you had made it back to port, praying for safe travel and thanking them for your return. You used their names in chants in hopes of calling up a wind or calming the waves, and you asked them for a clear sky so you could find the stars that would help you find your way in the dark. When you were in the water, freezing and flailing, you called for them to save you before your head slipped under the waves. And at the last, when you had no breath and your vision was going dark, you prayed to them that the water would carry your body home. That’s what Vandren had told him anyway.

Fjord hadn’t prayed to the Wildmother on the night of explosions and betrayal and knives. He had been under the water so fast that there had barely been time for a breath, and after that had been fear and pain and the dark. Then after _that_ , after waking up on the shore, after taking the sword in his hand, he hadn’t prayed to anyone, not even the entity who had gifted him with powers he didn’t remember asking for.

And yet, the Wildmother had rescued him the other night, spared him from his patron’s wrath, had brought him someplace dry and warm and _safe_. Why? Not that he hadn’t been grateful, but why him? Why now? And what did she want in return? Fjord thought about it all day as they travelled as quick as they dared in the strange, oily rain that came down in sheets, making travel cold and miserable. They had thought to save time by cutting through the Barbed Lands, but between the weather and the strange creatures that kept attacking them, they were losing ground.

Dinner was a quiet affair that night, everyone feeling wrung out and exhausted, Fjord included. Still, when Caduceus volunteered for the third watch, Fjord was quick to put his hand up.

“I’ll sit with you for that, if you don’t mind,” Fjord said with a smile that he hoped looked easy even though it came hard to him over the clamor of his own thoughts. _Don’t bother him with your problems, no one wants to hear that, they don’t care, just be_ _good_ _, Fjord, be_ _quiet_ , _Fjord, no one will want you around if you whine at them about every little thing—_

Caduceus smiled back. “I’d be glad for your company.”

Fjord nodded and tried to ignore the way his heart was pounding in his chest. “Got—got something I want to talk to you about, but it can wait until then.” The words sounded casual, not at all like he had to resist shouting over the old echoes in his head.

“Oh?” One of Caduceus’s ears twitched. “Well, that’ll be something to look forward to.”

“Yeah,” Fjord said like his stomach wasn’t twisting itself into a knot. He lay back on his bedroll and looked up at the stars shining through the layer of magic that was Caleb’s dome. He could hear Jester talking to herself as she drew in her sketchbook. No, probably not to herself, but to her god. That’s how she prayed, in whispered one sided conversations and drawings. Caduceus meditated before bed, and sometimes at sunrise as well, and that was how _he_ prayed. Yasha stood outside in thunderstorms, Jester had said, and maybe screamed at the sky?

Fjord closed his eyes and thought about what the Wildmother had said to him. _This protection will wither without faith._ Did that mean he should pray? What should he say? He felt self-conscious now that he had seen Her and knew she might be listening to him, _really_ listening.

“I have sailed upon your waters, have found my way back to solid ground with the light of your stars to guide me and with your wind filling my sails, and for this I thank you.”

It was a simple prayer of homecoming, whispered in the dark, but it felt right. More than right, it felt _good_.

*******

Fjord woke up past sunrise, with the smell of breakfast filling his nostrils and Caduceus looking apologetically at him.

“I tried to wake you,” Caduceus said. “And you rolled over and mumbled ‘five more minutes,’ which sounded entirely reasonable, and then I just sort of… lost track of time.”

“It’s all right,” Fjord said as he ran a hand over his face. He had a faint headache, which happened sometimes first thing in the morning. “I probably needed the sleep anyway. Thank you.”

“You wanted to talk to me though,” Caduceus said as he passed Fjord a bowl of the white mushy stuff that the cleric could conjure out of nothing, spiced to make it palatable. “We could do that now, if you wanted?”

Fjord felt his heart start to race and he clenched the bowl tightly to stop his hands from shaking. He shouldn’t be so anxious about this, he _shouldn’t_. “How about tonight after dinner? It’ll keep.”

Caduceus nodded as he dished out another bowl of food. “All right. If you’re sure.”

Fjord let out a sigh and began to eat. Tonight. He’d tell him tonight, and then what? He looked up at the sky, as if searching for answers, and winced at the brightness of the day. It’d be hot today in this strange place, but the sky was clear and after a few days travel in that strange, oily rain, he was grateful for a little bit of sun.

*********

“Fjord? Are you all right?” Jester didn’t’t look over her shoulder as she spoke, Yarnball tended to stray whenever Jester wasn’t focused on him, but Fjord could imagine the worried expression on her face from the sound of her words alone. “You’ve been kinda quiet, the past day or so.”

Fjord gave a little huff of amusement even as carefully removed one of his arms from around Jester’s waist to rub at his forehead again, as if that would banish the worsening headache. Of course Jester would notice that he had been a bit off, she always noticed little things like that, especially about him. “Got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“Weird dreams?” Jester asked. “Is Uk’otoa being a dick again? You know, Caleb told me about this spell where you can go into another person’s dreams, so if—“

Oh gods, that’s the last thing he’d want, for Jester or anyone else to be at the mercy of his patron. “No! I mean, yes, weird dreams but not—“ He might as well tell her. Jester knew about god stuff, and even though this wasn’t about _her_ god she’d probably be able to give him advice. “Listen, the other night—“

That was as far as Fjord got before the pain in his skull went from a dull throbbing to something so sharp and sudden that it knocked the air from him. There was a moment where he felt all of his muscles painfully seize just before he went limp, sliding off the side of the moorbounder, and he couldn’t even brace himself for the impact with the ground, could only watch as the ground came up to meet him and Jester screamed his name—

_Fjord hit the water and sank, unable to move as coldness crept over him, as the darkness pressed in at him from all sides. The pain in his head felt like fishhooks, barbed and sharp, dragging him downward. He couldn’t even scream, could barely even breathe the water, thick as syrup in his mouth as he sank and sank and sank. He should have been afraid, and part of him was, deeply, but there was another part that just felt resigned. The protection of the Wildmother had been nice while it had lasted, but now he was back in the cold and the dark and he was just so tired of it._

_The eye opened, glowing a sickly yellow in the dark. Another eyes opened. Another. Another, and something scaly and cold, colder even than the water wrapped around his waist._

**_OBEY_ **

_The word was accompanied by a painful tightening of the coil around him, by an answering pain in his head and in his chest, where he saw the orb inside of him glowing through his skin with that same awful yellow light._

**_RELEASE_ **

_More pain, and the water around him was so cold that it burned. He wanted to wake up, even if it meant vomiting sea water in front of his friends and having to endure their questions. Gods, he would welcome that._

_The pain stopped suddenly, the coil letting him go, and Fjord was left floating in front of the eye, the sound that escaped him almost sounding like a sob of gratitude and he didn’t have time to hate himself for that before Uk’otoa spoke again._

**_REWARD_ **

_The change happened in a blink. One moment Fjord was drifting at the bottom of an impossibly deep ocean, the next he was on the deck of a ship, blinking in the sudden brightness of the sun, the wind ruffling his hair and filling the sails. Ahead of them stretched the ocean, water filling the entire horizon. Knowledge came into Fjord’s mind with a feeling as chill as a deep ocean current. The people that were left in the world, who had managed to survive when both Uk’otoa and the oceans had risen, called thisthe Endless Sea. Oh there were small islands scattered throughout the world and people who lived on them like barnacles clinging to a rock, but most of the world was water now, and Fjord was the master of it, could move and shape the waves and the tides as he pleased. Fjord was the most powerful person above the water, Uk’otoa was the most powerful beneath it, and there was nothing that could stand before them, and all bowed to them in fear and awe and those that did not were crushed and drowned in the depths—_

_“No,” Fjord whispered in horror. This was the fantasy of a child, a teenager, a young man who had felt powerless all of his life, who dreamed of being important and being feared so that none could hurt him ever again. The man he had been before the shipwreck would have jumped at that. Hells, the man he had been when he had picked up the sword on the beach had wanted that, had wanted power and strength so that none could touch him. When had that started to change? When he had met Jester, with her understanding eyes and her wicked smile, who didn’t think it was weird that he had stopped speaking in his own voice, who wanted him to grow his tusks out as long as it was something he wanted too, who liked the way he looked? Was it the day they had been loading up the cart in Trostenwald, this strange group of people he had only just met, and Caleb had come over to him and told him that they could make this work? Had it been when they had been celebrating after rescuing the citizens of Alfield from gnolls? Had it been the day they had come over a hill and seen the city of Zadash for the first time, or they day they had won in the Victory Pit? Had it been later than that? Had it been that night in Hupperdook when fireworks had lit up the sky and there had been drinking and dancing and if he had known, oh if he had known—_

_He remembered the stale taste of the gag in his mouth, and the weight of manacles on his wrists. He remembered the look on Jester’s face when Yasha had been dragged away to be tortured, remembered the anger in Yasha’s eyes. He remembered her scream of rage and loss when she had stood at Molly’s grave, the sorrow on everyone’s faces, the guilt that had weighed on his heart. That was the turning point, he realized, the moment when his need for power became not about making people fear and respect him so he would never be hurt, but so that he could be strong enough to make sure his friends could never be hurt again, never be taken from him again._

_Fjord looked around at his crew, their unfamiliar faces and their fearful eyes. His friends weren’t there. Were they living on one of the islands, just trying to survive? Were they sailing the seas, trying to amass an armada to take him on? Or had they tried to stop him at the third temple and been cut down by the man he would have been, the man who wanted power at any cost?_

**_ANSWER_ **

_He was back underwater again, eyes upon eyes upon eyes staring at him, waiting. He could lie and say yes, and that could buy him some time, if he was believed. Time enough to break the bond between them, perhaps, time enough to find some way out of this. Except Uk’otoa seemed to be growing more impatient with each passing day, and Fjord had a feeling that any reprieve he’d be given wouldn’t be enough._

_He could say no. He could say no and Uk’otoa would punish him, hurt him and drown him and take away his powers, give him a day, a week to panic and sweat, then drag him back down here and hurt him again, punish him again, wear him down until he’d say yes just so the pain would stop. And the man who would say yes, the man who would free such a creature, that man who would survive as so many people died, as his friends would die, their blood dripping from his sword or their bodies dragged down to drown in the Endless Ocean, that man would live._

_That man would live._

_But he’d never be able to live with himself._

_Fjord took a deep breath of water and raised a hand, placing it on his chest as if he were about to swear an oath. His heart beat rabbit fast under his palm, and the crystal pulsed beside it with its own rhythm, steady and slow. He wasn’t sure what would happen next, if he would wake up or if he would die, and he wasn’t entirely sure it mattered which of those things happened. This needed to stop._

_“My answer is no!” Fjord roared as the flesh under his hand parted like water, as his fingers closed around the crystal, as he tore it free from his chest. “My answer is_ **_never!_ ** _”_

_Uk’otoa_ **_screamed_ ** _and the pain that flared in his mind was something Fjord didn’t have words for, it was too big, too much. The eyes vanished, leaving Fjord in the freezing dark, and it could have been the night of the shipwreck all over again. He swam for the surface even as his movements grew weak, even as his chest burned with the need for air. He was down too deep. He would never make it. In his nightmares, when he drowned he always woke up, but Fjord knew somehow that if he drowned here, he would never wake._

_Just like the night of the shipwreck, he was afraid, so very afraid. The prayer came to him then, the memory of Vandren teaching it to him sliding past the pain and fear like a fish, and he said the words in his mind as his movements grew even slower, as he stretched out a hand in the darkness. The last prayer of a drowning sailor._

_‘Wildmother, let the tides cradle my blood and bones, let them bear my body gently back to the shores where those that care for me wait, so that they will not spend their lives wondering when I will return, and let my soul find peace in your embrace.”_

_Someone grabbed Fjord’s hand and suddenly there was light so bright it blinded him, and warmth that burned almost as much as the cold had, but none of that mattered because there was air. He couldn’t see, but he could feel the surf moving around his ankles as he staggered forward, and there was sand when he fell to his hands and knees, coughing and retching as what felt like the whole ocean’s worth of water poured from him. It was so much like the aftermath of the shipwreck that he expected to see the falchion sticking out of the sand when he finally was able to open his eyes, but instead—but instead—_

_The Wildmother stood in the surf, Her skin the color of sea grass, pink and white beach roses tangled in Her hair. Her eyes were as deep and fathomless as the ocean, but not cold like the depths She had pulled him up from. They were warm, and they were kind, and they saw every part of him and held no judgement. She opened Her arms to Fjord as feelings of calmness and peace radiated from Her like the sun and formed itself into words. “You are safe, child. Rest.”_

_Fjord rose to his feet, swayed, staggered forward, and for the first time ever, experienced the love of a Mother’s embrace as he fell into Her arms, as he wept with relief, unable to stop the tears. Time stretched, and his consciousness grew hazy and soft as he lost himself in the feelings of being held, of being safe and cared for._

_It could have been days or months or eons when Fjord opened his eyes again, and he was surprised to find himself still standing on a beach in the arms of a Goddess instead of back in the mortal world with his friends around him. That should have worried him, probably, but instead he felt the blood rush to his cheeks as he stepped back from the Wildmother and frantically wiped at his tears._

_“I—I’m sorry—I—“_

_“Shhhhh.”_

_The sound calmed Fjord immediately, and the breath went out of him in a shaky sigh._

_“It’s all right,” The Wildmother said, smiling. “It can be overwhelming for mortals to meet the divine. You are not the first to cry in my arms.” She gestured further up the beach, beyond the surf. “Come, sit with me. There are things that should be spoken of.”_

_Fjord looked around himself as he walked further up the shore, pain and weakness gone from his body, banished by the goddess’s touch. The sand under his feet was white and soft, the sun was warm on his skin and a gentle breeze stirred the sea grasses and caused the flowers on the beach peas to nod. There were birds overhead, seagulls and mollymauks and cormorants diving for fish as sandpipers chased and ran from the tide. The water itself was not the dark sea he was used to from his dreams, but a bright, almost impossible turquoise._

_Fjord sat down in the sand next to the Wildmother and stared out at the perfect beach, the perfect ocean._

_“Do you know what you’ve done?”_

_Fjord raised a hand, willing his sword to appear, and even though he was not surprised when nothing happened, he still mourned the loss of the blade. “It’s gone, isn’t it? The magic? The pact or whatever it was?”_

_She nodded. “The strength of your refusal must have been very powerful indeed, to sever that link between you. I have not known many mortals who could do such a thing and live. The damage done to the mind is often too great to be healed, not to mention the pains of the spirit. My Clay, the Traveler’s girl, and the Stormlord’s angel all helped keep your body and mind together, and while I pulled you up from the dark depths, it was you who wrenched your soul free from that one’s grasp on it.”_

_“I didn’t even know if I could,” Fjord said softly as he stared at his still empty palm. “I just—I just had to do something. I had to try.”_

_“And you succeeded.” The goddess sounded proud, and Fjord felt tears threatening once more. She was proud. Of him. “That is no small thing. It will be some time before the spawn of the Serpent will be able to find another chosen. And you, you are free to be chosen by another, if you wish.”_

_Fjord shook his head. “I don’t think I’m going to go making in bargains with things lurking in the dark any time soon. Even though I tried using the power for good, it would never have balanced out, given the price.”_

_“That is true,” The Wildmother said. “Entities such as that one will always skew the bargain in their favor. But you misunderstand me. It’s not just the creatures of the dark that are capable of forging pacts and granting power.”_

_Fjord slowly looked up from his empty hand. He must have been mistaking her meaning. She couldn’t be saying what he thought She was. Yet when he looked up at Her, She nodded as if She knew what he was thinking, which She probably did._

_“You could wake up from this ordeal with new power, yes. You’d be able to heal your allies, and to channel the radiance of the divine along with the magic you previously knew.”_

_Fjord thought about all the times someone had been unconscious at his feet, his frantic fumbling with healing potions. To be able to heal, to help his friends in that way, that would be a great gift. But— “Would I still have a sword?” It had been Vandren who had taught him the blade what felt like a lifetime ago._

_“Your old sword is with your body, but it is an ordinary blade, now. It would be—reforged if you took it up again. It would no longer wield the strength of curses, or allow you to move from one place to another quickly.”_

_“Would it still look similar? I— the last sword I bonded to it was the sword of a friend who fell in battle.” He thought of Molly’s smile, of the way Molly had laughed as he had stepped into mist and shadow only to reappear long enough to slay another enemy. “It was my way of keeping him with me.”_

_“The shape of the weapon is influenced as much from the one who is summoning it as from the one who grants your power.” The Wildmother said, smiling gently as overhead the mollymauks wheeled and cried. “Your friend would be remembered.”_

_Fjord nodded and then took a deep breath. He was sure his heart would be pounding if not for the calming presence of the goddess, and his voice still shook when he spoke again.“What—what would you ask of me, in return?”_

_“The same as I ask all of those who serve me. To_ _protect the wilds from exploitation and destruction. To slay abominations and dark perversions of nature, and to embrace and respect the savage nature of the world and live in harmony with it. You have been doing some of that already, you and your friends.” She reached out and held his shaking hands in Her own. “You have nothing to fear from me. I will not come into your dreams and hurt you. I will not ask you to end the world in my name. You do not even have to take the power I’m offering if you do not wish to, just know that I thought you worthy of it.”_

_Fjord closed his eyes as the tears started again, and wasn’t surprised when the arms of the Wildmother surrounded him once more. It was as if he were a child again, except that instead of watching everyone else get adopted, he was the one who had finally been chosen. It wasn’t like before, a pact made in the dark, power he didn’t remember asking for, a cold ache in his body and an eye that was always watching, ready to punish him. This was light and warmth and acceptance and a choice._

_Fjord spoke his answer to Her through a voice filled with tears, the only answer he could possibly give._

_***********_

Fjord opened his eyes and stared at the night sky above him, shimmering through the magic of Caleb’s dome. There was a moment, just a moment, where he thought that everything that had happened, waking up and setting off for the day, being psychically attacked, breaking his pact, talking with the Wildmother, had all been just a particularly vivid dream he had had before what should have been his watch with Caduceus. Except his head felt like someone had taken his brain out and then had put it back in slightly crooked. He winced and raised a hand to rub at his eyes.

Someone gasped and then Jester was leaning down into his field of view, somehow managing to look both hopeful and afraid, her eyes red as if she had been crying. “Fjord?”

“Jessie.” His throat was dry and he felt stiff as he went to sit up. “How long was I—“

That’s as far as he got before he ended up with an armful of blue tiefling, before nearly everyone started talking at one.

“Oh gods, Fjord, I thought you were going to— you were talking to me and then you fell and you wouldn’t wake up and you were shaking and choking—“ Something glinted in Jester’s hand, and Fjord realized that she was clutching one of her diamonds so hard that her knuckles were pale blue.

“There was saltwater everywhere,” Nott rasped. “And then it wasn’t just saltwater.” She took a deep pull from her flask.

“So much blood,” Caleb whispered as he laid a hand on Fjord’s shoulder, as if to prove to himself that Fjord was real and alive.

“Was it Uk’otoa?” Beau’s eyes were nearly as red as Jester’s. “I swear to the gods I’m going to kick that snake’s scaly ass.” She shook her head, her fists clenched. “That was some scary fucking shit.”

“I don’t think snakes have asses,” Yasha said, her voice quiet and her eyes dangerous. “But it will no longer have a head if we ever meet. I won’t lose anyone else.”

“Guys, I’m _fine_ ,” Fjord tried to sound reassuring, even as he was overcome with emotions. It’s not that he didn’t believe his friends cared about him, but it was one thing to think it and another to see the evidence of it. “Has—anyone seen my sword?”

There was movement from the edge of the group and then Caduceus, the only one who had remained calm and quiet, knelt down next to Fjord, the sword resting on his open palms.

“It appeared out of nowhere when the seizures stopped,” Caduceus said as he held it out to Fjord. “I thought I should hold on to it, for when you came back to us.”

“Thank you.” Fjord took a deep breath and reached for the sword. He had just enough time to notice that the eye in the center of the hilt was dull and lifeless before his fingers touched the metal, and he watched as the old sword crumbled under his touch, turning to sand that fell to the ground and vanished.

“Fjord? Does that mean you don’t have powers anymore?” Jester asked. “I mean, you don’t _need_ magic to be awesome or anything but I know— I know it’s important to you.”

Fjord didn’t say anything. Instead he held out his hand, trusting that the magic would be there, because She had said that it would be. Warmth welled up in his chest, spread out down his arm and into his palm as his falchion reappeared, the weight familiar and comfortable as everyone, including Fjord, stared at the new blade. It still shone as gold as the Summer’s Dance sword had, and the falchion’s gentle curve still went a little crooked at the tip and was studded with barnacles, but there were lines etched into the metal that looked like waves, and instead of appearing in a spray of seawater, light danced along the blade like sunlight across the ocean. There was no baleful eye in the hilt watching and judging him, not anymore.

“Thank you,” Fjord whispered, and for a moment he felt the phantom sensation of fingers brushing the sides of his head as the suggestion of lips pressed against his forehead like a benediction.

When Fjord lifted his head from the sword he found that everyone was staring at him with wide eyes. Not at the sword, but at _him._ “Ummmmm, is something wrong?”

“No, not wrong,” Caduceus said. He was smiling the widest Fjord had ever seen him smile.

“Your _hair,_ ” Nott said, raising a hand and pointing dramatically.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Beau said. “Fjord changes his appearance all the time. Now the sword, that’s impressive.”

“I didn’t—“ Fjord reached up and touched his hair. It felt the same, maybe a little long, he had been meaning to shave the sides for a week now. “Will everyone stop being cryptic and get me a mirror or something?”

“I like it,” Jester said as she produced a small hand mirror from somewhere on her person. “Like, the gray was dashing and mysterious and all, but it made you look a little old. Not in a bad way, but, you know?”

Fjord angled the mirror and then spent a long moment staring at this reflection. His hair had been dark all over before the night of the shipwreck, the shocks of gray appearing some time after he had washed up on shore, and he had often thought about dyeing it because, as Jester said, it made him look old. That wasn’t going to be something he’d have to worry about anymore. Every gray hair had gone the near impossible turquoise of the perfect ocean he had seen in his dreams.

Fjord narrowly missed impaling Caduceus with his new sword as the firbolg suddenly moved with a rare quickness, pulling him into a hug.

“This is great,” Caduceus said, his tone laced with joy. “This is really great. She came to you. I thought She might.” The firbolg pulled back slightly and patted Fjord on the shoulder. “This is—wow.”

Fjord heard Caleb clear his throat. “Fjord, can you explain what has happened for the rest of us?”

Fjord made the sword disappear and then reappear just so he could watch the light dance across the surface once more, feeling warmth fill the hollow place in his chest where the ocean’s chill had once resided. “I can try. It all started with this dream I had the other night—“

**Author's Note:**

> So many things happened in the last episode, so many, but I had a very deep need to see Fjord stand up to Uk'otoa and get comfort and help from the Wildmom, so here we are. I started outlining the plot even before the episode ended, frantically looking up Celestial bound warlocks and researching pacts. I figured Fjord would probably want to keep Pact of the Blade, though honestly I could see him maybe trying out something new. Maybe we'll see in a future episode! Who knows? Also who else thought during the episode that it was going to be the Traveler and not the Wildmother saving Fjord for a hot second?
> 
> I'm angel-ascending on Tumblr and angel_in_ink on Twitter if y'all want to stop by and say hi!


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